


You Had Me At

by trascendenza



Category: Big Wolf on Campus
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-13
Updated: 2007-07-13
Packaged: 2017-10-04 05:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trascendenza/pseuds/trascendenza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>April 8, 1998 was a very momentous day in Dingle history.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Had Me At

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [porn battle (fourth)](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/317183.html), prompt: lockers ([mirror](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/317183.html?thread=14214399#t14214399)).

"C'mon c'mon c'mon!" Merton dramatically dragged along Tommy by the arm. "_Tempus fugit_, Tommy, and we must—"

"—fugit along with it?"

Merton rolled his eyes. "_Fly_, Tommy. Fly with it."

"But you said—"

"Never mind what I said! Just _come on._"

"Merton, I'm coming," Tommy laughed, keeping up easily, his shoes squeaking on the linoleum floors, "chill out, buddy."

"Ah, you aren't yet—'coming,' as it were, in your highschool vernacular—but you will be soon."

Tommy's eyes flared yellow. "But I thought we were coming to stake out a monster?" He squeaked.

Merton just made a sound somewhere between the dog range of hearing and a giggle, half-skipping, half-dragging Tommy down the hall and straight towards—

"Wait." Tommy did a double take. "Is that my locker?"

"Ding ding ding! And the prize goes to young Tommy Dawkins, locations for five hundred."

Merton looked entirely too happy about this for it to bode well.

"So… why are we at my locker?"

Merton suddenly grew serious. "Well, you see, Tommy, when two people like each other very much, and they want to _express_ their affection, they sometimes—"

"Merton! I mean _why are we at my locker?_"

Merton stepped back and opened one of the doors. "Actually, we're at _my_ locker."

Tommy's eyes nearly bogged out of his head when he saw what was inside Merton's locker. It was suddenly lined with black velvet, and there was a chair inside, also velvet-lined and sumptuous.

"What's all this?" Tommy ran his hands along the fabric; it smelled new.

"April 8, 1998." Merton grabbed Tommy and positioned him into the chair. He leaned against the door of the locker, an expectant expression on his face.

"Tommy, don't tell me you don't remember! That was the first time you said 'hi' to me."

Tommy's brows furrowed. "Isn't _today_ April 8?"

Merton waved his hands. "Exactly!"

"Exactly… what?"

"It's a very momentous day in the Dingle history, Tommy. The first time that the most popular joc—er, guy in the class said 'hi' to me. And now look at me—I," he had to pause to suppress another not-giggle, "get to have mad wolfy sex with you all the time."

Tommy smiled. "Yeah, it's pretty awesome, isn't it?"

"Right you are, my friend—it is _very_ full of awe. And in proper gothic fashion, we must mark this day with a celebration, and the slaying of a young goat."

"…a young goat?"

"Well," Merton's head shimmied around a bit, "in lieu of a proper kid to sacrifice to the gods of the dark carnal arts, I put feta cheese on our salad for dinner."

"Is that why my breath still smells funny?"

"Focus, Tommy, focus!" He brought his hands down on either side of Tommy's head to create tunnel vision. "We have a task at hand."

"We do?"

"Well, if you insist on being precise, at mouth."

Tommy just looked at him.

Merton leaned in closely and whispered only loud enough for Tommy's almost wolfed-out senses to catch. "The sacrificial… blow job?"

Tommy was wolfed out before he'd finished blinking. The back of the chair was splintered where he'd been gripping it. "_Oh_, uh, yeah, task at—we have to—yeah—okay—"

Without further ado, Merton kissed him—one of the rare instances in which he was the one cutting off the verbiage.

Tommy growled, low and satisfied, using his claws to tear through Merton's flimsy shirt and to expose his skin. He reveled in the sensation of Merton: the smells of cotton, garlic, and the roses Merton secretly pruned when he thought Tommy wasn't paying attention, and Merton's skin brushing against him, Merton's lips bruising against his own.

And then—oh, God—Merton was tracking down his body, those thin fingers that were so adept at turning the pages of old tomes fluttering over every inch of his skin. And Merton's _mouth_, his mouth so warm and smooth and _perfect._ In the periphery, Tommy heard his claws shrieking down the sides of the locker, felt his chest straining with the tension howling to be released. When he did howl, and howl and howl, it shook the metal throughout the corridor and echoed back at them for moments after he'd stopped.

He lifted his lead-heavy eyelids as Merton crawled into his lap.

"Good sacrifice, y'think?" Merton asked, yawning a little, and letting his head drop onto Tommy's shoulder, their hands seeking out and fingers locking into place.

"The best," Tommy semi-purred. Then he leaned back, looking into Merton's eyes.

"What is it, Tommy?"

Tommy smiled, big and wolfy and utterly happy. "Hi," he said simply, and kissed Merton's breath away.


End file.
